Break
by grintica
Summary: Finn's been dealing with some pain for weeks, but he's convinced it's nothing more than a sports injury. However, when what should have been a minor accident lands him in the ER, Finn realises that he's dealing with a lot more than he'd bargained for-he's truly sick, and his life is about to change in a way that nobody saw coming.
1. Break

Finn rolled over in his bed and stretched his legs out, wincing at the dull ache just below his right knee. It had been bothering him for several weeks now, but tonight for some reason it was bad enough to wake him in the middle of the night.

He'd had to take a break from sports because of this stupid injury. Running lots and playing rough had seemed to be making it worse, so Coach suggested he take some time off. Plus he'd had a nasty cough for nearly two weeks now and couldn't seem to shake it. He wondered if he ought to go to the doctor, because he wanted to get back to his life—without pain, without whatever cold or flu was causing the cough.

But for now, all Finn really wanted was an ibuprofen or two so he could get a little sleep.

*scene break*

When he got home from school the next day, Finn was utterly exhausted. He threw back a couple of ibuprofen tablets, sprawled on the couch, and turned on the television. However, it was only a matter of moments before he was fast asleep.

"Finn?" Carole's voice came from the kitchen some time later. "You hungry?"

"Coming," he replied. He slowly got to his feet, wincing as he took the first stiff step, and headed into the kitchen where the rest of the family was gathered round the table.

"You okay, Finn?" Burt asked.

Finn scrubbed his hands over his face and sat down. "Leg's bothering me again."

Carole placed an empty plate in front of her son. "Did you take anything for it?"

"Yeah. Didn't do much good. I think I just need to rest up."

After dinner, Finn went back to the couch with an ice pack over his knee, lying there until all the ice was melted, he'd watched/dozed through several shows, and finally decided to call it a day and head to bed.

As he lay there, though, he felt a dull pain come on in his chest, throwing him into an all-too-familiar coughing fit. He hacked until he tasted something metallic in his throat, at which point he made a dash for the bathroom, still coughing harshly, and spit out a mouthful of blood into the sink.

_That's not normal, _he thought. But he didn't think it was worth waking anyone up, so he tried to push it out of his mind. He popped another ibuprofen for his leg and headed back to sleep.

*scene break*

The next day, Finn awoke to a cold, rainy morning—the sort of morning that made him want to just go back to bed and pull the covers up over his head. However, the weather wasn't bad enough to cancel school, so he dragged himself out of bed and started to get ready for the day.

Finn poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down across from Kurt, who was slowly eating a cup of yoghurt. "Lovely morning, isn't it?" Kurt remarked sarcastically.

"I didn't want to get out of bed," Finn sighed. "We should take a self-imposed snow day."

"It's not even snowing," Kurt replied. "Freezing rain, by the looks of it. And besides, we have Glee Club today—don't want to miss that." At that, he stood from the table. "Ready when you are."

The two headed outside and down the front steps. Finn accidentally stepped in a patch of ice on the driveway, and the next thing he knew he was down on the ground, pain shooting through his leg.

Kurt laughed when he saw his stepbrother slip, but when Finn continued to lie there clutching his leg, the laughing stopped. "Finn?"

Finn couldn't find enough breath to answer; he just lay there gasping in pain, his breath coming out in clouds in the chilly morning air. Kurt let out a frightened cry and disappeared back inside. Soon, Burt came running down the steps to Finn's side, followed by Kurt and Carole, all with the same concerned look plastered on their faces.

Burt was the first to speak. "Finn? What happened?"

"I—I don't know," he gasped. "I just slipped. N-no big deal. But it hurt—way more than it should have."

"Well come on, then," Carole chimed in. "Let's get you inside and warmed up." She held out a hand to help as Finn struggled to his feet, hissing in pain when he put weight on his right leg.

"I can't," he said, horrified. "Mom, I can't walk!"

Burt came to Finn's aid then, hoisting his arm around Finn's waist and helping him limp his way into the house and onto the couch. Finn's leg was throbbing painfully, and it was badly swollen by now.

"I think we'd better get you in to get that looked at," Carole announced.

For once, Finn didn't argue. Because it was not normal for such a short fall to hurt this badly—what if it was broken? It definitely looked like a possibility. But how embarrassing would it be if it _was_ broken? _I slipped on ice and broke my leg._ How pathetic did that sound?

Finn allowed his stepfather to help him back outside and into the car. "I'll take him," Carole volunteered, to Finn's relief—he just wanted his mother right now. "Kurt, you can probably head on to school. We'll keep you posted."

At that, Carole and Finn were off. Finn felt woozy with pain, and he coughed harshly into his sleeve. No blood this time, he noted, sneaking a glance at his mother. The last thing she needed right now was to know that he'd been coughing up blood—it was enough that he possibly had a broken leg.

And sure enough, when the X-ray results came in, it was very obvious that Finn's tibia was fractured. His leg was put in a cast, and Finn assumed that that was the end of it. However, as the doctor sat down to discuss the results, the look of concern written on his face suggested that there might be more to it than a simple break.

"Finn, I think we all know that a simple fall like that should not have been enough to break a bone—especially not a large bone like your tibia. You're young and athletic; there's no reason for your bones to be that weak. And upon further examination, I feel that we have reason to be concerned."

He pointed out a poorly-defined mass right near the fracture point. "This is quite abnormal. We're going to have to do more tests to find out exactly what we're looking at here, but it looks serious. I'd like to proceed with a biopsy as soon as possible. Would you be able to do that now?"

Finn and Carole exchanged a nervous look. "I suppose," Carole answered.

Finn felt like he wanted to cry. How had this happened? He'd been fine. He'd had some sport injury, but he'd been fine. And now here he was with a broken leg and something else, something unknown but even more concerning than the fracture.

When the biopsy was over, the doctor said he would get back with the results within a couple of days, and all that was left to do was rest and wait.

**- to be continued -**


	2. Diagnosis

When Finn returned from the hospital, he realised that he'd left his phone at home and had a bazillion unread messages. They were mostly from his fellow Glee club members, and he smiled as he saw them. It was good to know people cared; although at the moment Finn didn't quite have the heart to answer any of them, it was still nice to hear from his friends.

Kurt got home not too long after Finn did; when he saw his stepbrother laid up in a cast he rushed over and plopped down on the couch beside him. "You poor thing," Kurt murmured.

Finn sighed and said nothing.

"Do you want anything?" Kurt asked, concerned.

"I'm all set for now. Thanks, man."

Kurt leaned further back into the couch. "Everyone was asking about you. That looks bad," he remarked, nodding toward Finn's leg where it was propped up on the ottoman.

"Yeah. Hurts a lot."

"But is everything okay? They think it'll heal up fine?"

Finn shrugged. "They don't know. The doctor found something. Took a biopsy and they'll get back to me when the results come in, but he said it looked serious."

Kurt's eyes grew wide. "What kind of something?"

Finn shook his head. "I don't know. A tumour I guess. The biopsy is to find out if it's cancerous or not."

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wow. Who'd have thought?"

"Who'd have thought…?" Finn repeated absently.

*scene break*

The next day was spent in a state of anxious waiting. Finn didn't go to school, but staying home alone nearly killed him. He thought he'd go crazy by mid-afternoon, wallowing in his pain, worrying about what was going on inside of him, and freaking out every time the phone rang.

The next day, Finn couldn't bear to stay home alone again, so Kurt skipped school to keep him company. The two watched movies—even action-packed movies that Kurt didn't like—and played games all day. Finn didn't really feel like doing much of anything, but having his stepbrother around made him feel a little more at ease.

The two were just in the middle of a card game when the phone rang and, as usual, Finn jumped out of his skin. Kurt rushed to answer.

"Hello?" Kurt bit his lip. "No, she's unavailable. This is her stepson. Yes, Finn is here." He caught Finn's fear-stricken gaze and mouthed the word _doctor_. "Sure, one moment please."

Finn took the phone from his stepbrother. "Hello?"

"Finn, this is Doctor Sanderson with the oncology ward. How are you today?" It was the voice of a new doctor, a different one than Finn had seen in the emergency room.

"Okay I guess. What's going on?"

"I'm going to need you and your mother in as soon as possible," the voice went on. "It's looking like we've got something grave on our hands, and I'd like to discuss details and treatment options."

"Treatment options?" Finn repeated.

"Yes. I hate to break this news over the phone, but it appears that you have an osteosarcoma, or a cancer of the bone in your right tibia. We're going to need to take action immediately—can you come first thing tomorrow?"

Finn swallowed. "Y—yes." Suddenly his hands began to tremble violently, and did it just get really cold in here? He coughed harshly, painfully, wincing at the metallic bloody taste in his throat.

"How is eight-thirty?"

"That will be fine." Finn squeezed his eyes shut. No, it wouldn't be fine.

"See you then. Have a good evening." And at that, the line went dead.

Kurt had been watching the whole exchange with huge eyes and a pale face. "Was that what I think it was?"

"I…" Finn trailed off, afraid to say the words out loud. Unable to say them, really.

"It's true, isn't it," Kurt said, more of a statement than a question. "It's cancerous."

Finn nodded mutely.

"I'll call Carole," Kurt offered, taking the phone and walking into the kitchen. Finn could hear the muffled conversation, but only the word _cancer_ stuck out to him—everything else faded into the background as the tears began to fall.

Finn didn't know how bad an osteosarcoma was. He didn't know if he could die from it. He didn't know if he'd have to have invasive, painful treatments. He didn't really know much of anything.

All he knew was that he had cancer.

*scene break*

The next day, Finn and Carole were out of the house early to get over to the hospital in time for Finn's appointment. Burt had managed to scrounge up a pair of crutches from that one time when Finn sprained his ankle freshman year, and Finn slowly, clumsily remembered how to use them as he made his way from the car into the hospital.

Dr. Sanderson turned out to be a very tall, thin, middle-aged man with lots of crinkly laugh lines around his eyes, although when he came into the room he wasn't doing any laughing. His lips were pressed into a grim line as he sat on his stool and looked over his clipboard. "So Finn," he began, "looks like you've had a bit of a week."

Finn sighed, tired and moody, coughed into his elbow and said nothing.

"So I don't know how much you know, Mrs. Hummel-Hudson, but I told Finn yesterday that we're looking at an osteosarcoma of the tibia. That's why the bone broke so easily, and it also explains the ongoing leg pain he's been having."

Carole nodded and scribbled something in her notebook. Finn coughed again, and the doctor turned a concerned gaze on him. "Finn, I've heard you coughing several times. Has that been a frequent occurrence?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah. Only for like a couple of weeks, though."

Dr. Sanderson nodded. "The reason I ask is that cancers like this have a tendency to metastasize, and the lungs are a common site for spreading. Have you coughed up any blood?"

Finn flinched and glanced at his mother. "Only once. Well—twice, I think. But not usually."

Carole gasped but said nothing.

Dr. Sanderson looked worried. "I'd like to take a chest radiograph to see if we've got lung nodules as well. That could complicate things."

_As if things weren't complicated enough_, Finn thought sulkily as he sat through yet another test. And when it was through, Dr. Sanderson looked even graver than before. "My suspicions were right on," he announced. "It's metastasized to the lungs."

It took every ounce of restraint Finn could muster not to throw something. He was seething with anger, frustration. It wasn't fair. He was young and strong and healthy—but ended up with bone cancer. He'd never smoked in his life—but ended up with lung cancer. What had he done to deserve this crap?

"So what's next?" he asked, sounding surprisingly calm considering the turmoil going on inside of him.

"We're going to jump right into chemotherapy," the doctor replied. "The lung metastases aren't very advanced, so the chemo should take care of them. As for the tibia, we're going to try to shrink the tumour with chemo and then proceed with surgery. Depending on how well it responds to the therapy, we might be able to save your leg."

Finn felt the wind knocked out of him. Now this was too much. "Too freaking much!" he burst out, burying his face in his hands. We might be able to save your leg? _Might?_ What the heck was that supposed to mean?

Carole took Finn's hand, but he barely felt it. He was beyond consolation.

"So we're going to need to jump on this as soon as possible in order to get the best prognosis," Dr. Sanderson went on. "So Monday afternoon, come in and we'll start treatment."

**- to be continued -**


	3. Therapy

Finn decided to go to school on Monday, if only to cling to some semblance of normalcy for one more day. As he limped through the halls on crutches, he could feel his fellow students' gazes searing his skin. He didn't want their pity. He didn't want them to see him weak either.

There was once a time when he'd been the biggest and the baddest, the strongest. Now here he was, a no-name with a cast, soon to be skinny and likely bald. What would people say then?

The one comfort that Finn found during the day was in his Glee friends. They were the ones whom he could trust to treat him right. They were the only ones who could pity him without making him feel weak. They were the only ones who could make him feel like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the end of the world.

However, as he rode with his mother to the hospital that afternoon, he couldn't help but feel alone and very afraid. And as they hooked him up to tubes and needles, pumping poison into his veins, he wished he was anyone else on earth.

Finn skipped dinner that evening, heading straight to his room after his appointment. He wasn't nauseous—just tired. His bed had never felt as comfortable as it did that night.

When Finn came down for breakfast the next morning, everyone was surprised to see him. "You're up early," Kurt remarked.

Finn glanced at the clock on the microwave. "It's almost time for school."

Carole crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "You're going to school?"

"Yeah," Finn answered. "I feel pretty normal."

"Well that's fantastic," Burt remarked. "You must have gotten lucky, not to be feeling side effects."

"I guess I did," Finn agreed. He was still tired, but didn't feel sick at all.

However, as the morning wore on, he started to feel a little less optimistic. On the way to school he started feeling like his breakfast wasn't sitting too well in his stomach, and by late-morning the heavy feeling had evolved into full-fledged nausea.

Finn clutched his pencil tighter, trying to write legibly despite his trembling hands. A bead of cold sweat ran down his temple, and he took a deep breath to try and steady himself.

After class, he ran into Rachel in the hall, and together they started making their way to the cafeteria for lunch. Finn didn't really feel like eating, but he could at least sit with his friends and hang out. However, as soon as he caught the scent of food wafting into the hall, his stomach lurched warningly. "I can't go in there, Rachel."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

But Finn had no time to answer; he knew he needed to get to the bathroom _now_ or his stomach contents would end up on the floor. Though it was difficult with his cast and crutches, he managed to lock himself in a stall and crouch in front of the toilet.

He gagged painfully, again and again, until after what felt like forever his stomach shifted into reverse and he was finally sick. He coughed and spat, bracing himself against the sides of the little stall to keep from falling over while his head spun.

When he felt like he could stand again, he limped over to the sink to splash his face and rinse out his mouth before heading back out into the hall.

Rachel was leaning against the wall, to Finn's surprise. "You okay?" she asked.

Finn shook his head, still a bit dizzy.

"Aw, poor thing." Rachel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you to the nurse. Can you walk okay?"

"I think so," Finn answered hoarsely, following his friend's lead as they slowly made their way to the nurse's office.

Once inside, Finn collapsed into a chair, Rachel's warm hand still on his shoulder. He felt like he might be sick again if he moved too much, so he sat as still as he could and just tried to remember to breathe.

"How long has this been going on?" the nurse asked.

Finn shrugged. "Like since second period I guess. I've only puked once, though." _Soon to be twice,_ he thought grimly. "I had my first chemotherapy session yesterday, so that's probably what's causing it."

The nurse's face softened, and Finn could see pity in her eyes. "Yep, that'll do it," she agreed. "Sounds to me like you'd better head home and rest. Shall I call your parents?"

Finn nodded. He hated to bother his mother or Burt at work, but he couldn't drive in this condition, and they'd taken Kurt's car that morning anyway. So he slouched further into his chair to wait for someone to come get him.

"You know, you don't have to waste your whole lunch period watching me try not to puke," Finn said to Rachel after a moment.

Rachel smiled. "I know."

The two sat in heavy silence, Finn thinking about cancer and chemo and his leg and his stomach, and Rachel thinking about who-knows-what, until finally Carole showed up to take Finn home.

Finn managed to make it through the car ride, but as soon as he was in the house he found himself hunched over the toilet again. Carole came in after a few moments and handed him a glass of water, which he washed his mouth with but dared not swallow.

"Come on, you. Come take your coat off and lie down," Carole murmured as she helped him to his feet.

Finn did as he was told, hanging his coat on its hook and falling into a heap on the couch. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around his trembling body.

Carole placed a trash can on the floor next to him and handed him the remote control. "Do you need anything else?"

Finn shook his head. "No. Thanks, Mom." His leg was throbbing, but he was afraid to take anything for it because his stomach was so on-edge. So he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

After what felt like only a moment, Finn was hit with another wave of nausea. He pulled the trash can into his lap and dry-heaved violently until he couldn't anymore, and then fell back into the couch cushions, out of breath and exhausted.

Kurt must have gotten home while Finn was sleeping, as he was standing in the doorway with a look of squeamish concern written on his face. "You okay, Finn?"

Finn nodded, still breathless. He placed the trash can back on the floor and curled in on himself, pulling the thin blanket tighter around himself. His leg ached like anything, his stomach churned, his throat burned, his head pounded, his chest hurt. Even his skin hurt.

He felt a pleasant weight over his body and opened his eyes to see Kurt meticulously covering him with the bedspread from his room. Finn smiled and pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Thanks."

"Sure thing. Carole says you can sleep on the couch tonight," Kurt informed Finn. "So you don't have to climb the stairs."

Finn frowned. "Where is everyone?"

"In bed," came the reply.

_Wow,_ Finn mused. _ I must have slept longer than I thought. _Sure enough, now that he took the time to notice, it was dark outside. He twisted his head to glance at the clock and found that it was after ten. "Alright. Well thanks for bringing me my comforter. See you in the morning."

Kurt smiled and, much to his stepbrother's surprise, reached out and affectionately ruffled Finn's hair. "Sleep well."

Finn smiled. "I'll try."


	4. Response

Finn slept through the night and awoke the next morning feeling normal again, much to his relief. The following weeks' chemotherapy, however, didn't let Finn off quite so easily.

The second week saw Finn throwing up even before the treatment was over, and he couldn't keep anything down for a full twenty-four hours. And by the third week, Finn was already nauseated before he even entered the hospital—maybe just out of dread for what he knew was to come after his appointment.

He was sick several times during treatment, and all through the evening and night afterwards. Every half hour, like clockwork, found Finn hunched over the toilet, retching and crying and shaking like a leaf. He was completely swaddled in blankets, camped out on the bathroom floor for the night, but unable to sleep for the raging nausea in his gut.

The night seemed to last forever, but finally a dull blue morning light began to filter in through the window. Soon there was a knock at the door—probably Kurt trying to use the shower and get ready for school—so Finn had to pry himself off of the cold floor, unfolding his sore body and bracing himself against the dizziness that swamped him as he stood up and opened the door.

"You look like crap," said Kurt.

"Good morning to you too," replied Finn sulkily.

"Were you in there all night?"

Finn opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by his stomach heaving up toward his throat. He dashed back over to the toilet, but it was nothing but dry heaves—he was empty. Without another word, he picked up the trash can, squeezed past his stepbrother, and headed for his bed to try and sleep until his next vomiting episode.

He was awoken some time later by a combination of nausea and his mother's voice. "Finn, honey?"

He retched, reaching for the trash can even though he knew he didn't have anything to throw up. "I feel sick," he moaned between gags.

"I know, Finn. I can see that." Carole placed a hand against his forehead, and he winced away from her chilly touch.

"So cold," he whispered, trembling as if for effect.

"It's bad this time around, isn't it?" Carole asked sympathetically.

Finn found that he was having a hard time focusing on what his mother was saying; her image was blurry and her words seemed all mushed together. Finn felt his eyes droop shut, and he forced them open again.

"Can you talk to me?" Carole asked. "Tell me exactly what you're feeling so I can help?"

"So cold," Finn repeated.

"You must be really dehydrated," Carole mused. "I don't like the looks of this." When Finn didn't even acknowledge her, she slipped an arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you back to the hospital, because surely there's something they can give you."

The two headed to the car, Finn still fairly oblivious, and headed for the hospital. Once admitted, a nurse set up an IV to try and rehydrate Finn and balance out his electrolytes, gave him an injection which she promised would help the nausea, and then the doctor came into the room. Now that Finn had some fluids in him, he felt a bit more aware and was able to hear what the doctor had to say.

"Well, Finn," he began, "we're looking at a bad case of dehydration, obviously, but also you're showing signs of metabolic alkalosis. That means you vomited up so much stomach acid that your balance became overly basic. That sort of thing tends to happen often in cases like yours, but it's a pretty dangerous situation. So we'll keep you on the Dolasetron and see how you respond."

"Will I have to keep getting shots?" Finn asked, remembering when the nurse had given him the drug earlier.

"I'm afraid so," Dr. Sanderson admitted. "Since you're unable to keep down any food or liquid, it's likely that any pill we give you will come right back up, thus doing no good at all. But don't worry—it's a once-daily shot with a very tiny needle that shouldn't hurt much at all."

"Okay." Finn didn't like the idea of sticking a needle in his own body, but maybe he could get someone to help with that. All he really cared about was getting rid of the nausea so he could function again.

Once Finn had his antiemetic drug on hand, he found the chemo treatments to be much more bearable. He still felt nauseated and didn't have much appetite ever, so he lost a lot of weight, but at least he didn't throw up nearly as much as before.

He managed to hang onto his hair (albeit thin and fragile) until his just before his fifth chemo session, when it finally came time to shave it. It had been falling out piece by piece for a good while, but that morning while Finn was in the shower, he was shampooing ever-so-gently when a big clump came out in his hands and he decided it was time to call it.

He sat all alone in the bathroom and shaved his head shiny and bald, and when he went into the kitchen for breakfast, his family didn't even react. He couldn't thank them enough in that moment—he knew they were shocked, but nobody said anything of it. Finn could have kissed each one of them.

Well, kissing Kurt might have been a little weird…Burt too, for that matter. Maybe he'd just stick with hugs.

Two weeks after Finn's sixth and final chemo appointment, he went in for a re-evaluation to see how much progress the chemo had made and assess the need for surgery.

After Dr. Sanderson had finished with his myriad tests, he came in to where the entire Hummel-Hudson family was waiting together and sat down. "Good news and bad news," he said. "Which do you want first?"

Finn sucked in a sharp breath. "Good news first," he said. Maybe the good news would be so good that the bad news wouldn't even matter.

"Good news is that we got the desired results in your chest images. The lung metastases responded as desired and your lungs are cancer-free."

Finn breathed a sigh of relief as Burt placed a congratulatory hand on his shoulder.

"Now as for the leg," the doctor went on, "we weren't so fortunate. Tumour shrinkage was extremely minimal, so we're going to have to go in for surgery."

Finn felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Why hadn't the chemo worked? "Does this mean I lose my leg?"

The doctor sighed. "We won't know until we try. We'll do our very best to remove the tumour without amputation, but we make no guarantees—this one's good-sized and vicious."

Finn met Kurt's gaze, and Kurt gave a weak and wavering smile. Finn knew that his stepbrother was trying to comfort him, but that the rest of the family was just as scared as Finn was. He might lose his leg.


	5. Operation

****author's note: Wow, sorry I sort of went for like over a month without updating. Heh, oops. I hope to be more regular with it from now on, so thanks for bearing with me.****

Finn's surgery was scheduled for the following Friday morning. The night before, he was sitting in the living room, staring at the black screen of the television, when Kurt came in and sat down.

"Whatcha got on your mind?" Kurt asked.

Finn snapped out of his trance and heaved a sigh. "Just thinking about tomorrow."

"Scared?"

"You have no idea."

Kurt awkwardly placed his hand on Finn's shoulder. "It's okay to be scared. Don't try to fight it."

Finn shook Kurt's hand off his shoulder, not really wanting sympathy from his stepbrother. "Do you think I'll lose my leg?"

Kurt shrugged. "If the doctor himself doesn't even know, I don't think I can answer that."

"If I do lose it, I'm done for. What will I be if I can't run? If I can't even walk?" He sighed. "No more sports for me. No more Glee Club."

Kurt frowned. "What does Glee Club have to do with this?"

"I won't be able to dance."

"Glee Club is about _singing_, Finn. Besides, look at Artie. He seems to do just fine, and if he can do it without the use of either leg, I think you'll be alright with only one. Besides, that's only a slight possibility. Chances are, you'll make it out in one piece and have nothing to worry about."

Finn knew Kurt was right. But he was in a foul mood and just wanted to have a pity party without his stepbrother trying to make things all better. "Why me? What did I do to deserve this? My life is falling apart."

Kurt stood up. "It will be what you make it, Finn." He headed for the stairs, then stopped and shot Finn an encouraging smile. "See you on the other side."

The next morning, Carole and Finn were up extra-early to get to the hospital on time. Finn tried to keep his mind distracted through the preparations, and before he knew it he was on the operating table, mask on his face, and only then did panic begin to well up inside of him.

He wanted to thrash and fight and unhook from all those machines and run away, but as the anaesthesia began to take effect his body wouldn't do what his mind wanted it to, and soon he found himself fading out of consciousness.

Finn's stomach churned with nausea. His mouth felt dry and his lips chapped. His leg ached, throbbed, pulsed. But what else was new?

But wait—there was something different. The pain wasn't the same old broken-leg pain Finn was used to. It was sharper, deeper, tingly and much worse. But as he lay there, eyes still closed, feeling the pain radiate through him, he sagged with relief. If he could still feel his leg, even this horrible pain, that meant his leg was still there.

He slowly, carefully opened his eyes.

The whole family was there—Carole, Burt, and Kurt. Carole sat in a chair by Finn's head, and Burt and Kurt were sitting on a bench in the corner of the room. When Carole noticed that Finn was awake, she gently took his hand in hers. "Hi there," she whispered.

Finn smiled, though it came out more like a grimace. Oh, how it hurt. How every single part of his body just hurt. "What time is it?"

"A little after four," Carole answered.

"Did everything go well?" Finn asked. He caught Carole and Burt exchange a worried glance, and wondered what had gone wrong. "What happened?"

"You can't feel it?" Kurt asked, standing up and coming to his stepbrother's side.

"Feel what? I feel so much." It was then that he glanced down and saw only one leg there under the sheet. "Oh, they took it," he said, surprisingly calm.

"That's right, honey, they took your leg." Carole rubbed the back of Finn's hand with her thumb. "But you'll be okay."

Finn made no reply, already on his way back into a deep, drugged sleep.

When he awoke once more just before seven, the first and only thing he could think of was pain. He moaned, tears running down his face, and grabbed the sheet with white knuckles.

Carole was at his side in an instant. "Honey, relax. We'll get you something for the pain."

Within moments, a nurse came into the room. She spoke soothing words as she administered a drug into Finn's IV line, then left as quickly as she'd come. As the drug began to take effect, Finn's mind cleared and he was able to speak.

"I dreamed that they took my leg," he admitted in a small, scared voice. "I woke up from the anaesthesia and only had one."

"Finn, I know your mind is pretty foggy still, but that wasn't a dream," Carole informed him, a tear escaping her eye and running down her cheek.

"What?" Finn felt his eyes grow wide. Surely his leg was still there—he could feel it there! How could it not be? But as he drew back the blanket, sure enough, there was one leg normal and the other cut off just above the knee and wrapped thickly in gauze. "If they took my leg, then why the heck am I still in so much pain?" he cried, suddenly overcome with anger.

Carole reached out to comfort her son, but he shrank away. "It hurts so bad," he sobbed. "It hurts."

"Hush, now," Carole soothed. "The pain medication will kick in soon."

"I want my leg back," Finn said. "I want to go back to normal, to the way things were."

"I know, sweetie."

"I'm a one-legged freak now."

"Don't say that."

Finn leaned into his pillows and gazed up at the ceiling. "Will they give me a fake leg?"

"It's an option. You'll have to talk with the doctor and see what will be best."

Just then, Kurt came into the room with a cup of tea in his hands. "Hey, he's awake!"

"Hey, Kurt," Finn said quietly.

"How are you feeling?" Kurt asked, taking Carole's place in the chair by the bed.

Finn thought for a moment. "Pain. Despair. Depression. But other than that, not too shabby."

Kurt sighed. "I'm sorry this happened. I feel so bad."

"Me too," Finn replied. "It sucks."

"But remember what I told you last night?"

Finn shook his head, even though he actually did remember—he just didn't want to say the words out loud.

"It will be what you make it," Kurt reminded him.

"You know something?" Finn asked. Without waiting for an answer, he went on. "I don't really want to hear you tell me that right now. You try being the one sitting in a hospital bed in pain and missing a leg, and then you can tell me whatever you want."

Kurt held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry. But we both know it's true."

Finn sighed, defeated. "I know."

There was a long pause, then Kurt broke the silence. "Your phone is completely blown up with texts from Glee Club," he informed Finn. "You'd better get on replying before everyone freaks out and thinks you died." He handed Finn his cell phone.

Finn took it reluctantly; he didn't want to talk to anyone about this, but he knew he had to tell everyone he was okay—in the loosest definition of the word.

Kurt was right; Finn's inbox was jammed with messages asking how he was, how the surgery went, did he feel okay, when could they visit. Everyone knew he was getting the tumour removed, but nobody knew that amputation had been a possibility. Finn had hoped that if he didn't tell anyone, maybe it wouldn't happen.

Well, it happened. And now he had to face his friends. He replied to each message with a quick one or two-word answer, and saved Rachel's for last.

_Hey, how'd it go? _She wrote.

_Not so great. Lots of pain. Feeling pretty down. Come visit tomorrow?_ Finn hit send, and not a minute later received her reply.

_We'll be there!_

Finn was lying in bed the next day feeling sorry for himself when Kurt entered the room, coffee in hand. "I've brought some visitors," he announced.

Finn sighed. "Alright."

Kurt took his seat by Finn's bed while the room filled up with people. First Rachel, followed by Puck and Mercedes and Quinn and the whole Glee Club. Finn's heart swelled with gratitude to see them all again.

"How you doing?" Rachel asked, perching delicately on the corner of the bed.

"Been better," Finn admitted with a sigh.

"Kurt told me about your leg," she informed him.

"Oh."

Brittany took a step closer. "What does it feel like, having only one leg?"

Finn winced. "Strange. It hurts a lot. Even though there's nothing there, I can still feel it. It's like every time I look down and see my—my stump, it surprises me. Because how can something nonexistent hurt so bad?"

Brittany's eyes were wide. "Weird."

Puck piped up then: "Can we see it?"

"There's not much to see," Finn told him. "It's all wrapped up and I don't want to undo it." Plus he really didn't want to look at it—it freaked him out too much.

As glad as Finn was to see all his friends again, it didn't take long before all the interaction wore him out and he slowly drifted off to sleep.


	6. Relapse

Finn spent three more days in the hospital before he was released. He was healing up well, they said, but he didn't feel like it—the pain was like nothing he'd experienced before. Phantom limb pain, they called it. When the limb is gone but the brain still thinks it's there.

Finn learned to control the pain a little bit. If he concentrated with all his might, he could sort of imagine himself relaxing the amputated leg, and sometimes his brain would catch on and stop receiving nonexistent pain signals. But it was still hard.

One week after the operation, it was back to the hospital for more tests. The weekend was a time of anxiety for the whole family, but when Doctor Sanderson called on Monday with the results, everyone was relieved to hear that Finn was cancer-free.

-scene break-

Finn began meeting with a physical therapist to start figuring out life with one leg. Now that he was missing it, his center of balance had shifted and he was significantly lighter, so it took a while to remember how to walk again.

But as the weeks went by, Finn grew in strength and confidence. When he was able to walk with crutches, the process of creating a prosthesis began. He was measured, his skin tone analysed, and it wasn't long before he had a nice new leg. It took some getting used to, and hurt lots at first, but as long as he wore long pants he looked just like a normal two-legged guy—a two-legged guy who walked with a limp, anyway.

He finished out the school year and headed into summertime with hope. He was cancer-free and managing just fine with his prosthetic leg. All was well.

At least until he started coughing up blood again.

School had barely let out for the summer when Finn came down with a cough. Memories of the cancer-related cough he'd had in the winter flooded his mind, but he assured himself that this wasn't cancer. He was cancer-free and planned to remain that way.

However, one morning as he was getting dressed, he began to cough and couldn't stop. It hurt like anything, his chest heaving for air, his lungs burning. He tasted blood, dreaded blood, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Falling into a heap on the bedroom floor he continued to hack, coughing until he gagged and brought up an alarming amount of blood.

"Mom!" he called, frantic, before remembering that she was at work. "Kurt!" he called then, praying that his stepbrother was home.

Kurt opened the door, knocking as he entered. "Finn?"

"Kurt, call Mom," Finn said breathlessly.

"Finn, you're bleeding!"

"I know," Finn gasped, choking on the words. "It's my lungs."

"No, no no no," Kurt muttered as he ran from the room. Moments later, Finn heard him on the line with Carole. "Yes, he's coughing. There was blood. I don't know, he just said to call you. Okay."

Kurt re-entered the room, where Finn had caught his breath and was sitting on the edge of the bed, considerably calmer. His hands were slightly bloodied and his face pale. "She's on her way," Kurt said.

Finn flopped back on the bed, a knot sitting heavy in his stomach. He knew that coughing up blood could be a sign of a lot of different things, but something in him knew that it was the cancer. He could feel it.

Carole took her son straight to the hospital when she got home, and Finn sat through yet another x-ray. When Finn went in to view the images, what he saw scared him to death.

His lungs were lit up, shining bright and pale-blue, so riddled with cancer that Finn barely recognized them. Carole burst into tears upon seeing them, and Finn let her lean into his arms.

Dr. Sanderson sighed gravely. "I can see I don't need to tell you this, but it's bad news."

Finn nodded wordlessly.

"I'd like to do an MRI, because with your lungs in this condition I wouldn't be surprised to find cancer in other organs as well."

Finn nodded again and did as he was told, suffering through the long procedure, fearing what he'd find on the other side. And when it was all over, the look on Dr. Sanderson's face was enough to send Carole sobbing again.

Finn sat there and took it. He calmly listened to the doctor tell him that he was in bad shape. That not only was he dealing with severely compromised lungs, but that the cancer had infiltrated various other organs such as his liver, the remaining bone right above the amputation site, and even his brain.

Finn was sick. It was funny because, until the coughing, Finn hadn't _felt_ sick. But this had been going on for a while apparently, and Finn was worse off than anyone could have guessed.

The prognosis? A few months at best.

"Let's begin chemotherapy again," Dr. Sanderson suggested. "We'll go the more invasive route. It won't be pleasant, but we can hopefully buy you some time."

Finn nodded, still silent.

"Come in Monday morning to begin. We'll likely keep you here with us, because this treatment regimen will tear you up. So go home, pack your things, and do what needs to be done so you're ready to stay a while."

Finn wondered what the doctor had meant by _a while_. A week? A month? The rest of his (painfully short) life?

But he did as he was told. He spent the weekend with friends, living it up as much as his sick body would let him, and Monday morning he moved into his new home: a stark white room in the oncology ward.

They wasted no time in getting his chemo started. The nurse got the needle in right on the first try, and for the next few hours Finn received a slow drip of poison. He only hoped that the time he'd gain from the therapy would be worth the pain it would surely cause.

-scene break-

Five days a week, Finn received this drip. And each day he grew sicker, though it was hard to tell whether that was the cancer itself, or the treatment. Finn couldn't keep down food for the raging nausea that plagued him at all hours. But even if his stomach would accept it, the sores in his mouth and throat made eating excruciating.

One day when Kurt came by the hospital to visit, he brought Finn a blue popsicle—one of his favourite summery treats. Finn ate slowly, relishing the cold against his ravaged mouth, but as soon as he finished the cold sugary snack, he found himself retching up mouthfuls of bluish-tinted bile, aggravating the sores even more.

"Sorry," Kurt murmured, rubbing Finn's back.

"S'okay," Finn replied between gags. "It was nice while it lasted." He pushed the emesis basin away and curled into a shivering ball, despite the July heat.

Kurt covered his stepbrother with a blanket, gave his hand an ever-so-gentle squeeze, and left the room just as Finn sank into the peace of sleep.

-scene break-

Finn's third week of chemo began with tears. The nurse came in to insert the port and administer the chemo, but Finn was so thin and his blood vessels so weak that it took several tries to get the needle situated, each stab more painful than the last. By the time it was all set up, Finn was badly bruised and it hurt to move his hand.

He lay there watching the chemicals enter his bloodstream. _Drip. Drip_. He lacked the energy to move, so he simply lay still. He wondered when it would happen—when he would finally let go. He sensed that he still had a while yet, but he didn't really want it. What was the use of prolonging his life if this was the extent of it?

Just then, the door opened and his beloved Glee Club filed in. Finn couldn't believe that they were here; school was out so it must have taken a lot of coordinating to get them all together between busy summer schedules.

Finn smiled as they sang to him. He wanted to sing along, but he couldn't. It hurt too much. So he listened, eyes closed, weak smile spread across his sunken face. When they finished, Finn felt like he ought to say something, but he didn't know what. He glanced at Kurt, eyes brimming with tears, and mouthed the words _thank you_.

Kurt nodded, beaming with pride that he'd been able to brighten Finn's day. "We love you, Finn," he said on behalf of the group, and was echoed by a collective murmur of encouragement.

Still smiling, Finn hugged each one of his friends. He felt that his feeble hugs couldn't quite do justice to his gratitude for those people, but he did his best. Little did he know that that would be the last time he'd see those faces he'd come to know and love.


	7. Broken

The cancer wasn't responding to the chemotherapy. That weekend, Finn was moved to the ICU because his lungs were so full of fluid that he couldn't breathe on his own. He still couldn't keep anything down, and he was in constant pain. He'd suffer severe nosebleeds in his sleep and wake up choking on his blood. He slept most of his days, and when he was awake he could focus on nothing other than the panicked feeling of drowning in his own fluids.

Once when Carole came in to spend the night with him as always, Finn noticed a disconcerting look on her face. "Mom?" he breathed, barely audible, laboured and raspy.

"Don't try to talk, honey," she said. "I just spoke with the doctor. He needs us to—" her voice broke and she took a breath. "He needs a decision."

Finn raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"The chemo isn't doing much. If it buys you any time, it'll be mere days. Doctor Sanderson wants to know if we intend to continue, or if you'd rather live out these last few—er, this time of your life without the chemo. It would mean we'd have less time with you, but you'd be in less pain."

Finn nodded. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to go home and die in peace in the comfort of his own bed, but that wasn't an option. Just as long as he could get rid of the chemo, one less drug flowing through his veins, he'd be happy.

And so it went. No more chemo. Finn was at peace. He still couldn't eat or drink, he still had needles resting under his skin, itching and burning, delivering fluids and pain medication. But the sores began to heal, the nosebleeds stopped, the nausea abated.

Four days later, Finn was lying in bed fighting for breath when he decided that tonight would be the night. He turned to where Kurt was sitting quietly beside him, staring at the wall. "I think," he whispered, and paused to catch his breath. "That tonight…"—another forced, trembling breath—"I will let go."

Kurt sat up straight and took in a sharp breath as if something had stabbed him in the back. "Should I tell Dad and Carole?"

Finn nodded, no longer able to speak.

Kurt rose from the chair and grabbed his bag, frantic. "Don't go until we get back. You have to promise you won't go."

Finn smiled, barely noticeable, but Kurt saw. "I'll be here," he gasped. "Go."

And at that, Kurt ran from the room. Finn watched him go, heard his footsteps running down the hallway, and slowly sank into the abyss of unconsciousness.

Kurt arrived back at the hospital in record time, his father and stepmother in tow. "Go on," he urged.

As the visiting policy in the ICU was one at a time, Burt went in first to say goodbye to his stepson. Kurt watched his father gather himself with a shaky breath before disappearing down the hall.

Kurt let Carole lean her head on his shoulder while they waited anxiously for Burt to return. It was only a matter of minutes until he did, face pale and tear-stained. "He's unconscious," Burt choked. "But alive yet."

Kurt gasped. Finn had promised he'd still be there when his family returned.

Carole went in next, taking longer to say her goodbyes, and returned looking just like her husband. "Go ahead, Kurt," she said quietly.

Kurt didn't want to. He was angry at Finn for breaking his promise. But nevertheless, he went. He sat down in a chair and placed his head in his hands, sobbing. "You promised," he whispered.

Finn looked like he was already gone. His head shiny and bald, his face white as the wall behind him, bluish bruises hanging heavy under his eyes. His breathing was ragged and laboured, each breath a battle. He was as skinny as a rail, only a shell of his former athletic, toned self.

He grabbed Finn's icy hand in both of his, not bothering to be gentle, and clutched it with his life. "You promised!" he cried out. "You said you'd still be here, and you're not!" The rise and fall of Finn's chest meant nothing—he was alive, maybe, but not still living.

Kurt buried his face in Finn's chest, moistening the hospital gown with tears. "You promised," he sobbed over and over like a broken record. He sat there hunched over his stepbrother, still clutching his hand, for a very long time, but nobody tried to stop him. Nobody came to take him away, to untangle him from his brother, best friend, and first love.

Soon the shrill beeping of the monitor shifted to one long, steady tone, and Kurt knew that Finn's heart had stopped. "You promised!" he screamed. "You promised and you died!" He sucked in a ragged breath, leaning in close to Finn's ear. "I guess sometimes promises break themselves."

He placed his forehead against Finn's as best he could and let his own tears fall against his stepbrother's ashen face, and there he stayed until the nurses came and gently pried him away.


End file.
